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she ran up the stairs, her husband right behind her.
     
    Frantic now, she called her daughter’s name a few more times. After standing on the landing, motionless and confused for a few moments, she finally made her way back down the stairs.
     
    “Where is she?” She turned to me, her eyes shooting darts in my direction, demanding an answer. Her husband tried to lead her back to the couch. She violently brushed his hand away.
     
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Camp, Jamie’s body was found a few hours ago in some woods outside of town. I am afraid she was murdered. I am so sorry.” I was fighting so hard for my throat not to close. I felt my vocal chords tightening, and my eyes were beginning to burn.
     
    “There must be some mistake.” She shook her head, her hand clutching the small silver cross that hung from her neck.
     
    She was still looking for one of us to tell her that it couldn’t be true.
     
    Father Murphy got up just in time. The poor woman suddenly turned white as a sheet and collapsed. He caught her just before she hit the floor.
     
    I kicked myself for not having had the foresight to see that something like this would happen.
     
    I should have realized that I would be delayed in getting back to the station. I called Marty and asked him to start interviewing the girls. I was a little worried about this being his first major interview in what might turn out to be an important homicide case, but I had no other choice. I had a lot of faith in the young detective, but he was not an experienced interviewer, and even one small mistake could have incredibly disastrous repercussions.
     
    Although Mr. Camp, a CPA by trade, was as shocked and grief-stricken as his wife, he managed to take control of the situation in a way that only a mathematician can. Logically and in a precise manner, he managed to call paramedics for his wife. Begging our forgiveness, he spent the next half hour making phone calls.
     
    He called in a friend and neighbor to come over to help tend to Jamie’s four-year old brother, who was still sleeping soundly in a bedroom upstairs, and his own brother to inform the rest of his family of the tragedy that had struck like a tornado in the middle of the night.
     
    The house became a flurry of activity in no time, with Mr. Camp directing the now present EMTs and the concerned and inquisitive friends and neighbors like a stage manager in a Broadway play.
     
    Once he was convinced that his wife was out of physical danger, he joined us in the kitchen, where Father Murphy and I had gone to allow the EMTs to care for Mrs. Camp.
     
    “I’m sorry if I have ignored you, I can assure you that it wasn’t my intention, it’s just…” his voice broke.
     
    “No apologies are necessary, Mr. Camp, you are doing what you need to do for your family. Is your wife going to be okay?” I knew the woman would never again be okay, but I hoped he realized I was talking about her immediate physical condition.
     
    “Patty has a slight heart murmur, which is a concern of ours, but they gave her a pretty strong sedative. Right now she is sleeping, but I wonder if sedating her was a good idea. I don’t want her waking up thinking this was nothing more than some nightmare.”
     
    Father Murphy and I nodded in unison.
     
    “I know this is a very difficult time Mr. Camp, but do you think you can answer a few questions for me?”
     
    He looked around the kitchen and then turned his attention back to me.
     
    “Can I get you some coffee? I need some coffee. Um, Father? Detective? We have one of those single-cup things. Tea?”
     
    “Yes, coffee would be fine, thank you,” I answered him.
     
    “Garrett,” Father Murphy stood up. “Why don’t you let me do that? Please relax, sit down before you fall down.”
     
    Mr. Camp gestured for the priest to remain seated.
     
    “No, Father, please—I need to do this, I need to stay busy. I’m afraid that if I stop moving, I will crash. I can’t afford to do